Confessions of a Surf Addict

Scientists have found that the brains of risk-seeking athletes have some things in common with those of drug users. Photo: Weisberg

Hi, my name is Cynthia, and I’m a surf addict.

My addiction began over seven years ago, when I rode a gentle knee-high wave on a waterlogged 10′ foam surfboard in Florida. I was instantly, irreversibly hooked on the feeling. I bought my first surfboard the next day, and spent the summer floundering around in the ocean, teaching myself to surf. My occasional wave-riding successes fueled my addiction and kept me coming back for more. Even an inland move to the upper West Coast, where the 48° ocean was almost three hours away, could not dissuade me. I bought a thick wetsuit and made the trek on weekends whenever possible, which wasn’t often enough. Serious water time at a week-long surf camp in Costa Rica fueled the fire. Then nearly five years ago, I moved to NorCal, a mere 50 miles from the real Surf City, U.S.A., and began to surf regularly about twice a week, the most family and work commitments will allow. It’s close to the minimum needed to sustain my habit. If I’m out of the water for anything approaching a week, I start jonesin’ – needing a fix bad.

Surfing is so much more than a hobby; it’s an essential. And like any junkie, I’ve found that over time, it takes more to get me high: bigger waves, more challenging maneuvers. The easy rides on little waves don’t pump me with stoke anymore, but landing a steep drop on an overhead wave keeps me smiling for days.

The very nature of surfing plays into the way dopamine works. If you’re constantly satisfied, dopamine stops firing in your brain, but if you’re only rewarded some of the time – a few good waves in the midst of a bunch of wipeouts, or closeouts, or other on-the-water disappointments – your dopamine cells will be pumping after the good rides, shooting you up with jolts of pleasure.